


We've met before

by CMDAK



Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: M/M, Protective Parents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2016-05-26
Packaged: 2018-07-10 06:27:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6969853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CMDAK/pseuds/CMDAK
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world is smaller than one thinks and being a genius could be something that runs in the family. James and Q met before, although the agent isn't quite sure and Q's not really too keen on reminding the agent of that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We've met before

**Author's Note:**

> I got this idea wile watching GoldenEye on the TV a few nights ago and noticed that the Quartermaster had his hands on his hips when he was scolding 007.
> 
> Please forgive all mistakes and enjoy~

It was rare for his mother and father to take him to work and when it happened, his mother was constantly worried about him. He understood why, since things around their office tended to explode and go up in flames, but he was smart enough to stay in the secure room with a two-way mirror from behind which he could observe that.

 

They also hid him from the people that were dressed in nice suits, telling him to keep quiet and stay low until they left their office. He didn’t understand why and he was jealous because while he wasn’t allowed to as much as glance at some of the toys his parents made, the people dressed in suits got them as gifts. Worse still, it seemed that those people rarely brought the toys back in one piece, if he heard things right while he almost never broke his toys – and when he did, it was only because he was curious to see how they worked and he always managed to somewhat put them back together.

 

Well, he had enough of that, he decided one day. He will sneak out of the secure room when the man with the blue eyes that made him think of the sky that annoyed his father was there and he was going to take some of the toys and prove to his parents that he was very mature for 11 years and that he could take care of himself and of the things they built.

 

Sneaking out wasn’t a hard thing to do when the blue-eyed suit man came by; his mother always hovered around his father to make sure that he didn’t get too annoyed while his father watched the man like a hawk, always scolding him with his hands on his hips – which was a clear sign of how upset he was because the only time his father had done that to him was when he had caught him playing with a pen – and always concentrated on showing off what the newest toys could do.

 

He crouched down behind some crates and watched, frowning when he saw how easily it was for the other man to annoy his father. Sure enough, not three minutes into their meeting and his father had his hands on his hips, his voice was a little bit raised and although he was too far away to know for sure, it looked like his right eye was twitching.

 

“Do grow up, 007,” he heard his father announce right before ripping his sandwich out of the chuckling man’s hands and stomping out of the room, his mother right behind him, already trying to calm him down by offering to make him his tea just the way he liked it – and he pulled a face and almost made a noise because his parents kissed and that was just yucky and not something he wanted to see.

 

“This 7 is so rude,” he muttered, frowning and deciding that he should teach him a lesson by typing his shoelaces together and making him trip in front of all the people that were present there. But when he looked back at the table the man was gone. “Next time,” he promised, carefully crawling out from behind the crates and rolling under a few tables and cars to avoid being seen before finally reaching his father’s work table.

 

Licking his lips and eyes as big as saucers, he pushed himself on the tip of his toes and leaned forward, happy that he was finally going to get t play with something – maybe with the pen which he would use to write his parents a pretty letter – and then return it to them personally without so much as a scratch.

 

But just as he brushed his fingers against the pan, a larger hand clasped around his and he was in the air, blue-eyed suit looking amusedly at him. “What is a little kitten doing in such a dangerous place?” He asked, pulling him to his chest and walking away from the desk, ignoring the shocked gasps that filled the room. “Does the Quartermaster know that he has a pest problem?”

 

Frowning, he pinched the suite’s nose and started to struggle, trying to free himself. “A kitten is not a pest, but you are,” he said loudly, the man’s smile finally disappearing from his face when he was kicked in the stomach. “And you’re mean,” he announced right before bolting out of the room, effortlessly avoiding being caught by his parents’ underlings. And when he heard his parents use his full name, he yelped and ran faster.

 

He was so going to get it – a week without books or experiments, topped only by the fact that he was going to be made t eat peas and broccoli and other green things he hated – but that was going to happen only if he was caught. And being so small even for his age was a huge advantage, especially since he knew this one awesome shortcut to the roof on which he planned on staying until that nasty man went away alongside his parents’ anger.

 

Sure, he had to pull cobwebs from his hair and spend about five minutes to clean his glasses, but the view from the top of the building was sublime and he was smart enough to keep away from the ledge – although there was the chance that his parents might get even more upset for pulling this disappearance act, but maybe he could avoid that if he used his stash of crayons and notebooks he had on the roof to write an apology and draw something that will impress them.

 

“You’re in a lot of trouble, little kitten,” the blue-eyed suit from right behind him, grabbing him before he could scramble back in the vent. “No, no, you are not doing this. Boothroyd, M, and R were very adamant about apprehending you and bringing you back in one piece. In fact, they have everyone who’s not ruining an important mission searching for you.” The man wrapped his arms around him once again, but this time he was made sure that he was holding him in such a way that he couldn’t land any sort of kicks. “So tell me, little kitten, just who exactly are you and why is everyone so panicked about getting you back? Not that I condone an unsupervised child running around MI6, but they are more stressed than usual.”

 

“Father said that I shouldn’t talk with strangers and you are the rudest and strangest stranger that I have ever seen, so you aren’t getting anything out of me,” he announced and tried to tug on the man’s nose and ears to get him to let go. “In fact, at this point I think I could easily start screaming stranger danger and get you arrested,” the kid warned and the man hugged him tighter. “I mean it! Put me down and don’t tell anyone that you saw me and I’ll pretend this never happened.”

 

The man chuckled and ruffled his hair, kicking the door open and easily strolling back inside the building. “Hello, Quartermaster who always claims that I can’t finish a mission without destroying anything? Got the little pest—” The boy clearly heard how his father started to shout in the man’s ear which almost made him drop him. “Fine, fine, the kid is not a pest. But I still got him and he’s not bleeding or bruised and the building is still standing. I think that—” He sighed and took out the strange device he had in his ear, stepping on it before looking back at the boy. “I am starting to have second doubts about giving you back to Boothroyd.”

 

His mother appeared out of nowhere three floors down as she always did – and that only made the little boy even more sure that she was made out of magic because it was impossible for a simple human to do that so often – and grabbed him from the man’s arms, instantly starting to scold him, promising that they would never bring him into work again. “And what were you thinking, getting out of the secure room when this man was there?”

 

“Hey, I am not that—”

 

“Don’t you dare interrupt me, 007,” his mother snapped at him and pushed him out of the elevator. “And the Quartermaster wanted to speak with you about something that you destroyed for no good reason and on purpose?”

 

The man flinched, stuffing his hands in his pocket. “I already informed him to take the money for those annoying things out of my fee, so it’s a good thing that they’re not made out of platinum, right?” He asked the kid, winking at him.

 

“You can’t really break platinum,” the kid grumbled. “You can’t even actually scratch platinum because—” He shut the instant he head his mother click her tongue. He was in so much trouble that if he saw the outside of his room by the time he was 90, he could consider himself lucky.

 

“That aside, R,  I got the kitten back before anything bad happened, so maybe you could go easy on the squirt?” The man tried, rubbing the back of his neck and looking really uncomfortable.

 

The woman frowned at him and started to abuse the button that closed the elevator’s doors, missing the fact that the man was keeping them open. “I am grateful you brought him back without a single bruise but I will be even more grateful to you if you keep out of this, 007, as this is something personal.”

 

Her glare became less hard when she turned to look at the child, but it still looked too harsh as far as the agent was concerned. Then again, if he struggled hard, he could remember being on the receiving end of such a look from his mother – and it was only then that it dawned on him just _why_ Q and R had been so panicked about the child disappearing and why the child was there in the first place.

 

“I am pretty sure I know why you’re this upset with the squirt, R, but from how fast he had gotten up on the roof—”

 

“He was on the roof?” The again as she looked at the guilty looking child in her arms: “You were on _the roof_? What in the most important thing from the three things I told you never to do when you are here that you just did?”

 

The child turned to glare at the agent. “Thank you a lot, tattletale,” he hisses just as the doors started to – finally – close and his mother finally started to scold him, the man looking apologetically at him.

 

***

 

A bomb went off and James was forced to face reality and come back home. A bomb went off and they suddenly got a new Quartermaster and he was a young thing that was nothing like the old one and yet he was identical. Just like the old one, this Quartermaster worked too much. He sat hunched over his desk day and night and broke his back and forced his eyes, all to create wonderful things that only saw a single day of field work.

 

James Bond was to blame, of course, because even though almost two decades passed since a he had become 007, he also became the fear of all enemies, lover of all people who had the ability to love – be they male or female – and also the most ruthless and careless agent whose physical medical sheet probably filled up an entire room. He never thought before he acted and always ignored what his poor, young Quartermaster told him to do. If he was told to take a right, he'd go left. Not to jump, he was in the air even before the Quartermaster finished saying what he wasn't supposed to do.

 

Now unlike the Quartermaster before this one had no patience for the agent's lame jokes and it was easy to step on his tail. But this one, this young man who was constantly accused by the agents for having spots and whose name was still a mystery to him, kept his cool and always had a retort ready.

 

”Are you hard of hearing in your old age, 007?" He would ask the agent dryly every time he was presented with a box of what was left of his hard work.

 

"I am leaning more towards you not reaching your puberty and your voice not being properly formed yet," 007 would shoot back, his cheerful grin in place.

 

Q would snort and shake his head before presenting his agent with a hearing aid - always a new one because 007 crushed it as soon as his fingers wrapped around it. "Well to you, an ancient being, I must seem like a child. But I am kind and understanding Quartermaster even if you deserve a slave driver instead of the saint that I am," Q said as he typed something slowly on his tablet, 007 almost letting out a groan because he knew what came next, "and I will recommend a simple visit to Medical to make sure your hearing and eyesight is fine while also suggesting to M to still allow you to be an agent as long as you wear that little thing."

 

007 wasted no time destroying it. "Don't you tire of buying me these things?"

 

"Building them," Q corrected as he pushed forward the forms 007 needed to sign. "Also, I should be the one asking if you don’t ever get tired to destroying everything I give you."

 

Maybe he saw a flash of remorse on the agent’s face, but the lightning was terrible in his branch and Q might have stared at a computer screen for too long. “I am not doing it on purpose,” James said in his defence and Q arched his eyebrow, pointing at the newly destroyed hearing aid. “That doesn’t count.”

 

“Yes it does,” Q said slowly, pinching James’ nose – something he did only when he was too tired to hold himself back and always ended with the agent narrowing his eyes and humming as if he was trying to remember something. “Anyway, for the next two weeks you’re R’s problem, although you are constantly everyone’s problem.”

 

James leaned over Q’s desk, touching and poking things while the other man tried to slap his hands away. “I would feel offended if I wouldn’t be too curious as to why you won’t consider me a walking plague for the next two weeks and what I have to do to maintain that.” He noticed a ticket sticking out from under Q’s laptop, but he was too slow and Q shoved it in his desk, almost catching James’ fingers in his drawer.

 

Q didn’t have to tell him anything; he could order him out of his office – get ignored – call M over to get the pest out of the office – succeed in getting rid of James but prove that he wasn’t capable of controlling his agents – so he decided to tell him just to spare himself a lot of trouble and a strong headache.

 

“I am going on vacation as of,” Q checked his watch and grinned, “right now.” He started to turn off his computers and put the cups back in their place, making sure to lock every gadget that wasn’t quite finished but that James could still use to set him back a few months. “Try not to—”

 

“I thought you’d at least get out of England,” James said as he waved around Q’s train tickets. “I mean I know you hate plane rides, especially after the end of the Italy mission when you were an inch away from riding my lap,” he turned away just as Q was about to snatch his train tickets back, “which I would have been completely okay with, just so you know.”

 

“I’ll keep that in mind and never ever share a plane or air with you ever again,” Q grumbled, leaning closer to James to try and get his tickets back, their noses almost touching. “Bond, I am not in the mood.”

 

“Is it because you have a headache?” James teased, flinching when Q grabbed his ears and started to tug on them, something clicking in his mind. “Say, were you ever a child?”

 

Q snorted. “According to you, I still am a child.” He elbowed James in the stomach and grabbed his tickets, tossing them in his backpack. “And if you started to ask me ridiculous things like that, maybe you should go to medical and ask them to check your head for any serious damage.”

 

James grabbed Q and pulled him in front of him, eyes narrowed as he ruffled his hair. “This is something that has been bugging me ever since we met in that museum.” Q’s attempts to shrug him off went unnoticed. “Have you ever sneaked in Boothroyd’s lab when you were a younger brat and attempt to steal a pen?”

 

Those were the exact words that Q had feared since the day he had learned that he was going to become the Quartermaster and that James Bond was still on active duty. In his original plan, he was close to fifty, his father wasn’t missing an arm, his mother wasn’t deaf, and James Bond was roasting on an island, surrounded by a ton of eager lovers. But no! Bloody Silva happened and he was forced to limp out of the make-shift Medical, try to ignore his human side so he could keep the world from ending.

 

It was his struggle to mask his pain – the physical and mental one – that got him through his first meeting with the agent. But after Silva was caught, M was saved, and Bond’s childhood home was destroyed, he started to struggle to keep her nervousness under control. The hardest to do that was when Bond strolled in his lab just because he could when neither of them had anything important to work on and invaded his space, pushed his button, and made him act not like a Quartermaster should, but like a puppy in love – did he mention he got a crush on the blue-eyed suit when he had tried to keep him safe even from the wrath of his mother that he totally deserved?

 

 Why he didn’t outright tell him that he was the sullen child he got off the roof all eleven years ago? Well, it was already hard to gain respect from the agents when you are a twenty-two year old boffin who has to bark orders in the ears of people who are twice your age and scold them when they muck up missions or destroy expensive – in 007’s case, he should really use ‘and’. If they found out that he was the son of the previous Quartermaster who had been dragged off the roof by 007 out of all agents when he was young and delivered to his fuming mother’s arms, no one would ever respect him anymore.

 

But the jig wasn’t quite up and Q didn’t plan on admitting to something as embarrassing as that so easily. He worked with spies, for the love of God; their ability to lie like their lives depended on it – which it always did – must have rubbed on him at least a little.

 

“I have no doubt now that you hit your empty head on your way to my office,” Q declared and finally managed to detach the agent from him. “Now if you are done annoying me and wasting my time…” He trailed off and pointed to the door, internally groaning when he saw that James sat himself down on the beaten up sofa Q had in his office and which he used only occasionally for sleeping instead of depositing unfinished projects.

 

“One, I am never the one who hits my head. It’s always hit by my enemies, just like the back f it, my chest, my legs, my arms—”

 

“I got the point and that only makes me want to drag you to Medical even more,” Q interrupted him, hands on his hips.

 

He really didn’t like the grin that Bond had on. “That’s the same way Boothroyd sat when he was scolding me and as far as I remember, the squirt I fished off the roof was his son.”

 

Q sat up straight instantly. “Are you saying that everyone who rests his hands on their hips is related to the Major? Because if that is the case, then kudos to him for managing to be the father of all the people who posed for a few Greek statues even before he was born.” He rolled up a newspaper and started to swat Bond’s legs. “Now get of my sofa and go away. You’re going to make me lose my train.”

 

The agent shrugged before putting his hands behind his head. “I can always drive you there and I guarantee that the company is going to be more pleasant, the food cheaper and better than whatever day-old sandwich you can buy from a train, and you’ll also get there faster.”

 

Q sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose; blasted, stubborn agent who can’t simply drop annoying subjects. “I am going to correct you on all of those things because you couldn’t be wrong if you bloody tried. The company, which is you, will turn my hair white, the food won’t be cheaper because I am sure that even your socks cost half of what I make monthly, and due to your driving I will either end up in the hospital or selling my kidney to pay for the speed tickets which you’d dump on me.”

 

Bond gasped and hoped off the sofa – which Q regretted because he was now invading his personal space and trying to trick him out of his jacket. “It is true that I tend to cause you a little bit of trouble,” he pinched his side to keep Q from interrupting his innocent act, “and I may _occasionally_ drive just a tad recklessly, but I my socks are not even a quarter of a half as expensive as your questionably coloured cardigans.” He tugged on the cardigan’s collar and Q cussed him when he realized that he no longer had his jacket on. “Is this dark yellow? Or really bright brown? Maybe the colour of mustard? Did you pour your lunch on it by accident?”

 

Q elbowed him again and stepped on his Italian shoes to punish him. “The colour is named none of your bloody business. Now give me my jacket and remove yourself from my office before I use mustard to paint a bull’s-eye on you and then let the junior agents know that you are their ticket to be new double oh position that just opened up.”

 

He felt bad when he saw how serious James was looking at him, the man squeezing his shoulder in a sympathetic manner. “Q, you did everything you—”

 

“I am talking about your designated number,” Q said quickly, looking apologetically at Bond. “I was hinting at the fact that if you don’t stop being a pest, I’ll force you into retirement.”

 

The agent rolled his eyes and threw himself back on the sofa. “The old Quartermaster also confused me for a pest,” he pointed out and Q groaned and stomped out of his office, slamming the door as hard as he could.

 

“R! Get pest control in my office and rid me of that huge rat that’s longing of my sofa by the time I get back,” he snapped on his way out, registering the woman’s exasperated sigh and Bond’s annoying laughter.

 

***

 

“R, you won’t really spray me with whatever you have in that canister, will you?” James asked without looking up from his phone. Q was so predictable in his anger that this was the fifth time this month that poor R had been forced to march in his office with that heavy equipment and every time, James had managed to talk her out of it. “You know he doesn’t really mean it.”

 

The only warning he got was the metallic clank of the woman putting the tube down and her off before he got sprayed – with water, thankfully. “Yes, but I know that you mean to irritate him because you are a five year old boy at heart, tugging on the braids of your crush, and that irritates me,” she snapped at him and continued to drench him. “What the bloody hell did you do this time? I haven’t seen him this red in the face since the time he caught you making out with Martha from accounting all over his budget proposal.” James waited for her to stop before he even attempted to answer, getting a mouthful of water for his trouble. “The truth, 007.”

 

“Okay first, back then I was trying to get her to sign the project, which I did.” Back then, Martha also looked very fine and he had this itch which she shared because her boyfriend had broken up with her and since he was there and she was there, why not take care of each other? “And this time, I think he would get angrier if I were to tell you, so I will act like the spy that I am and keep my mouth shut.”  

 

The look she was giving him told him that she thought that he had hit on him – again, not that the boffin really got it when that was happening. And he decided that he should focus on feeling offended instead of cold because whenever he hit on Q, the man walked away confused or suspicious that he had done something or that he wanted something, not red in the face with anger.

 

“That’s going to be a first,” the woman muttered, pointing towards the door. “Please drip somewhere that isn’t Q’s officer or department and make no mistake in thinking that I won’t actually use pesticide the next time you piss him off this much.”

 

The boffins were his allies, the people he trusted with his life and because of the man that ruled above them with a warm smile and lame jokes, he knew that a traitor would never sneak in their ranks and that he could easily show them their back when he was on a mission or in his downtime. Provided he didn’t cross or upset their beloved Overlord and his right hand woman of steel, which he seemed to do without wanting if the glares he was receiving as he was making his way out of the branch was any indication.

 

Now the logical thing would be to stop poking the hornets’ nest, but James was the type of person who acted on instincts and not on logic. So instead of just leaving Q alone to his more than deserved vacation – that should be spent on a private island that he owned and that had been bought for him with MI6 money out of their own free will if anyone bothered to ask for his opinion – he changed his suit, picked up one of the many pre-packed bags he had and drove off in his Aston Martin.

 

It amused him when he crossed the train that he knew Q was in, slowing down to reach its tail and then speeding up to pass it, his way of telling Q without calling him or annoying him that they were going to meet and it amused him again when he saw the train speed past him while he was enjoying a very expensive, but delicious steak in an exclusive restaurant – which was just one of the many placed he had planned to stop with Q by his side. But alas, Q was stubborn, he was stubborn, and they both were horrible at normal human interaction.

 

He parked his car at the train station’s exit and waited for Q to come while slowly sipping a cup of coffee, the black liquid turning ice cold by the time his favourite boffin stepped out, hair rustled from sleep, stretching to expose his belly button – he had an innie, how cute – and crack his bones.

 

“The train was fifteen minutes late,” James said and he saw Q instantly tense up. “Before you say anything, let me make it clear that I really do not intend on upsetting or annoying you as much as I am and I honestly want to ensure that you have a good vacation.”

 

“Then bug off and leave me be,” Q snarled, pinching the bridge f his nose. “And I was having such a nice vacation,” he added, checking his watch. “What do you want? What did you manage to do in the short period of time that I was away from my desk and in how much trouble will I be for helping you?”

 

How could he not want to drop down on his knees and worship this treasure of a man who stood in front of him, ready to abandon everything to help him yet again? How could he be blamed for doing his best to spend as much time as he could in his presence even if he did it in the wrong way? But in his defence, Q would not really spend as much time with him if he was the perfect agent, something that’s been proved by 009, the poor woman grumbling about how the boffin was missing all of the signals she was sending out while beating him in hand to hand combat.

 

“If I stop beating about the bush and outright say that I want a date with you...” He trailed off when he saw the raw rage behind Q’s green eyes and held his hands up in defeat. “Pretty much how I thought you would react, but please hear me out before you band me for life from your presence and unleash HR on me.” He popped open the trunk and waited to see if Q would give him a chance or not.

 

And Q did, throwing his luggage in the trunk, but not getting in the car. “I’m only using your car as a free locker while you have a coffee and I a cup of tea at the same table.”

 

Coffee and coloured water was better than nothing, but James would be damned if he was going to allow Q to insult his own taste buds for the nth time that day by going in a subpar fast food restaurant that was right next to the train station. He knew of it because he had done research and yes, just as he suspected, Q was heading straight for it.

 

With the risk of being thrown on the ground and get his arm sprained in the best case scenario – because he had seen Q train and he knew that the man was a lot more capable when it came to fighting than it seemed – he grabbed Q’s hand and stopped him in his tracks. “Wait, there’s a little teahouse not ten minutes away from here and I read that they have really good cheesecakes and chocolate éclairs.”

 

Q arched one of his eyebrows and allowed James to lead the way, although he was quick to pull his hand free. They walked in silence and sat in silence until their treats and drinks were served and Q seemed perfectly happy not saying a word. But James knew that this was his only chance and he was not going to waste it.

 

“So, were you that kid?” He asked and Q shot up instantly and made to leave, which James considered it to be an answer of itself. “I am not going to tease, demean, or laugh at you Q, or question how you got to be the Quartermaster, if that is what you are afraid of.”

 

If looks could kill, than Q would be the best assassin in the world if he gave everyone the glare that he was giving him right now. “Damned right you’re not going to question why I am your bloody Quartermaster, not after the many times I pulled your unworthy arse out of danger and dragged back to safety,” Q all but shouted at him and slumped back in his chair, trying really hard not to let the other man know that he had burned his tongue when he took an angry sip from his cup of tea.

 

James nudged the little jug of cold milk towards Q and waited for his tongue to cool off somewhat before he opened his mouth again. “I had doubts the first time I saw you,” he admitted and Q huffed. “Then again, you also had doubts—”

 

“I didn’t,” Q interrupted him, eyes narrowed. “I’ve heard of you ever since I was 10 and I might have seen you in action when I was 15 and I snuck in the main room, curious to see just how good the blue-eyed suit was that kept on getting what my father and mother made despite the fact that he never returned them in one piece. I knew without a doubt that no matter how old or hurt you were going to be, you would still finish your mission and then waste your last breath on a really lame line that I’d insist gets carved on your gravestone.”

 

Never in his life had James felt more honoured than right now. He also felt like he had to apologize to Q for honestly doubting his abilities the first time they met and he was going to do that, but just not with words because they always slipped him when it come to something as serious and important as that.

 

“I’ll make sure to say something that would bring at least a tiny smile on your lips,” he joked and earned himself a kick in his knee. “I deserved that,” he wheezed out and Q’s eyes narrowed even more.

 

“And think of it the next time you want to say something as idiotic as that.” He kicked him again for good measure and sipped his tea. “Anyway, yes my family name is Boothroyd and yes I am that brat from MI6’s rooftop that tugged on your ears and nose. Is this date over now? Is the nosy agent,” James thought this was supposed to be a pun, but his nose was not big enough to warrant that type of stab, “satisfied? Is the mission complete? Can I—”

 

James shoved chocolate biscuit in Q’s mouth to shut him up because he couldn’t believe how wrong the young genius was. “This was not a mission, Q, honestly. Yes I am curious and yes it bugged me because I was sure that I had seen those green eyes somewhere, but my interest in you didn’t go away just because I know I technically hugged you some years ago.”

 

“Eleven years ago and if you think I’ll sleep with you just so you can move on—” He slapped the biscuit out of James’ hand before the man could shove it in his mouth. “I’m going to shove my foot down your throat if you attempt to do it again.”

 

“You keep reaching the wrong conclusion,” James said quickly, grabbing the biscuit before it hit the ground. “Why do you think I’d lose interest...?” It dawned on him just how stupid he was about to sound and trailed off, shoving the biscuit in his mouth.

 

Q’s lips twitched for a second, arms crossed over his chest. “Glad to see that you are capable of realizing when stupid things cross your mind, Bond.” He finished the rest of his tea in one gulp and pulled his wallet, James quickly grabbing his hands.

 

Of course Q growled at that and James flashed him his most charming smile. “It’s my treat, Q, I insist. Just the beginning of my apology for stressing you out so much on the first day of your vacation.”

 

“That somehow scares me, Bond,” Q said slowly even as he put his wallet back inside his satchel, actually waiting for James to get up and walk out of the teahouse with him. “But if you think you can worm your way into my vacation with this, you’re dead wrong. I am taking my bags out of your car and taking a cab to my destination and you’re getting that tight arse of yours back to London.”

 

James hummed, arching his brow. “You think my arse is tight?” He wanted to offer Q to pinch it or show it to him and see that he was not wrong in assuming that, but he was pretty sure that idea would earn him a permanent tattoo of Q’s shoe on it. “Forget I asked that,” he said quickly, putting some distance between the two of them. “Instead, focus on me asking you if you’re willing to give us a chance?”

 

“I’ll think about it on my way back to London,” Q said shortly and knocked on the trunk. “Now open up so I can continue my vacation.”

 

“Q, why spend money on the cab? Let me drop you off to whatever hotel you’re staying at,” James insisted and he had a whole speech on why Q should agree to this, surprised into silence when the younger man just simply slid into the car. “That was easy,” he muttered, narrowing his eyes. “Too easy,” he added as he slid in the driver’s seat. “What are you up to, my fiendish roof climber?”

 

The fact that Q blinked innocently at him as he dutifully put his seatbelt on only made James even more suspicious. “I am just saving my money for when M finally has enough of me covering for you. This,” he waved at the car, “also saves me a lot of time. But do try to respect the speed limit at least a little, okay?”

 

James did just that. Actually, he made sure to drive way below the speed limit, but Q didn’t really notice that – even if the other traffic participants were pretty pissed about that and made sure to honk their annoyance as often as they could – because he was too invested in their conversation.

 

And who wouldn’t be because apparently James like the same TV series Q did – and that was big because they were considered ‘geeky’ and the agent definitely didn’t look like the type who would – and he also knew how to cook and who knew that? He, on the other hand, was a master at tea making that avoided the agent’s second favourite drink after alcohol because coffee gave him too much energy and it was decided after building a super computer in a single night by just using TV, microwave, and toaster parts that he was never going to ingest a single bitter drop in his entire life – and no, he didn’t want to try James’ special way of tiring someone out just yet.

 

“Just yet? So that means that you are willing to try it sometime in the future?” James teased and he was pretty sure that the only reason why he didn’t get another bruise on his leg was because he was driving.

 

Q did however grab James’ ear and tugged gently on it. “Keep talking like that and I won’t be willing to so much as answer your calls in the future.”

 

That was a lie and they both knew it because even when Q was beyond upset with James over his latest death stunt he pulled and sick with due to a combination of a flu that was going around the office and exhaustion, the second his agent called him because he was in desperate need of help, he crawled out of bed and did everything he could to bring him back alive in one piece, if a bit scratched and bruised.

 

They continued to talk about the things they liked – and James couldn’t believe that Q actually liked to get a tan because he was as white as marble, although he did understand that a Quartermaster rarely had time to lounge on a beach when they had him as an agent – and somewhere between a lengthily discussion regarding why Q simply abhorred suits that were too tight, the GPS announced that they had reached their destination.

 

“This is the cosiest hotel I have seen,” James said as he got out of the car and made sure that there was no one waiting to ambush them.

 

Q patted James’ back, squeezing his shoulder to calm him down and assure him that nothing bad was going to happen. “It’s my parents’ house,” he explained just as the front door opened and his father’s easy smile turned into a cold glare. “Father—”

 

“No, no, no, no,” his father interrupted him. “I thought you had gotten over that crush—”

 

“Father!” Q snapped and then focused on trying to push James back into his car. “Don’t you dare say anything about this if you want to live to see another day,” he warned and James simply smirked, rearranging his glasses for him.

 

“I find that extremely adorable, just so you know,” he whispered and entered his car out of his own free will when he saw the old R walk out of the house with something that looked too much like a normal umbrella to be one. “If you need my help, I am but a button away.” He pushed the car’s keychain in Q’s hand and tugged him down for a small peck that had the Major groan and the old R chuckle even as she cocked the umbrella. “Your mother is just as fierce as I remember her to be so I think it’s time for me to go. I promise to come bearing gifts for your parents the next time we come over.”

 

“Both my husband and I would love it if you bring our baby without huge bags under his eyes for which you are the cause,” Q’s mother shouted. “And don’t you even try to pretend that you’re not at least half of the reason why he’s so tired most of the time. Although, if he’s tired because of something pleasant like—”

 

“Mother! Stop reading his lips and father, put that EMP gun away before I take it away,” Q warned, running the back of his hand down James’ face. “I really don’t think you’ll ever win this set of parents over.”

 

“Challenge accepted,” James whispered, stealing another quick peck before driving off.


End file.
